I'm Glad My Mom Died

by Jennette McCurdy

My life purpose has always been to make Mom happy, to be who she wants me to be. So without Mom, who am I supposed to be now?

Mom reminisces about cancer the way most people reminisce about vacations.

How could I possibly be so upbeat when my surroundings were so obviously heavy? I was two. Age is no excuse. I feel tremendous guilt every time we rewatch the home video. How could I not have known better? What a stupid idiot. How could I have not sensed what Mom needed? That she needed all of us to be serious, to be taking the situation as hard as we possibly could, to be devastated. She needed us to be nothing without her.

But what does mean something to me is the general air in the McCurdy household. The best way I can describe it is that, for as far back as I can remember, the air in the house has felt like a held breath. Like we’re all in a holding pattern, waiting for Mom’s cancer to come back. Between the constant reenactments of Mom’s first bout of cancer and the frequent follow-up visits with doctors, the unspoken mood in the house is heavy. The fragility of Mom’s life is the center of mine.

“I want to give you the life I never had, Net. I want to give you the life I deserved. The life my parents wouldn’t let me have.”

Mom wants this more than anything, not me. This day was stressful and not fun, and if given the choice, I would choose to never do anything like it again. On the other hand, I do want what Mom wants, so she’s kind of right.

Church is a beautiful, peaceful, three-hour weekly reprieve from the place I hate most: home.